[ Eight years. He can feel his thoughts galloping inside. Resistance and uncertainty, making a united stand, poising him to break and run, or collapse. He's quite for a long moment, his hand lax but somehow heavy as she tugs. ]
[ But then a sound escapes him, halfway between a huff and chuckle -- a release of tension even as he gathers his self-possession. She hasn't changed. To her, the extraneous details don't matter. As if a leap through the space-time continuum is nothing between them. As if they're fused, from their years spent together, the atoms and molecules between them sustaining a private current of intimacy during their time apart. ]
[ He wouldn't credit it. But the way she's drawing him toward the bedroom feels like a lifesaving handhold, stopping his decent into utter desolation. His mind is percolating with worries and what-ifs. That's how it's designed: it won't stop. But as long as he has her attention, some sort of attention, he knows he'll be all right. ]
[ He follows her into the bedroom, awkward but unfaltering. Even before he's crossed the threshold, he's right up tight behind her, feet on either side of her, the cool length of him pressing close with his hands on her shoulders, hungrily mouthing her nape through the fluffy heap of her hair. He yearns to go slowly, but after so much cautious postponement and rationalization, he can't surf the wave of his want. He's drowning in it, submerging inch by inch. ]
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[ But then a sound escapes him, halfway between a huff and chuckle -- a release of tension even as he gathers his self-possession. She hasn't changed. To her, the extraneous details don't matter. As if a leap through the space-time continuum is nothing between them. As if they're fused, from their years spent together, the atoms and molecules between them sustaining a private current of intimacy during their time apart. ]
[ He wouldn't credit it. But the way she's drawing him toward the bedroom feels like a lifesaving handhold, stopping his decent into utter desolation. His mind is percolating with worries and what-ifs. That's how it's designed: it won't stop. But as long as he has her attention, some sort of attention, he knows he'll be all right. ]
[ He follows her into the bedroom, awkward but unfaltering. Even before he's crossed the threshold, he's right up tight behind her, feet on either side of her, the cool length of him pressing close with his hands on her shoulders, hungrily mouthing her nape through the fluffy heap of her hair. He yearns to go slowly, but after so much cautious postponement and rationalization, he can't surf the wave of his want. He's drowning in it, submerging inch by inch. ]